The Hallowed Halls of Fielding
by fieldingprep
Summary: Daria and Quinn must face the rigorous intellectual demands - and bewildering customs - of the elite private school Fielding, as well as navigate the perilous social minefield. Lucky for Daria that she has a new friend, Elsie Sloane.  New chapter.
1. Chapter 1

The Morgendorffer car pulled up to the school. Jake watched Quinn climb out of the car. He turned to his other daughter, Daria. "Don't get upset if it takes the other kids a little while to warm up to you."

Daria watched as a young lady looked Quinn over from head to toe. "Hi! You're cool. What's your name?"

"Quinn Morgendorffer," Quinn answered.

Another young woman said, "_Huge_." Whatever 'huge' meant, it was certainly a complement. A forward young man asked Quinn out, only moments before she had arrived on campus.

"I'll try to help her through this difficult period of adjustment." Daria sighed. She didn't want to be here.

"That's my girl!" said Jake, before Jake's sarcasm detector went off. "Wait a minute...!"

"See you, Dad." Daria had had enough.

(* * *)

The students were being addressed in the auditorium. A man with a beard stood up in front of the assembly, and there was immediate silence. Daria was amazed.

"Good morning. As we begin the new school year together, there are many groups that deserve thanks for their efforts. Our staff cannot be forgotten, of course. It is my pride that Mr. McCoughtry will be joining us in Latin, and Mr. Simonich will be joining us in Chemistry. They are passionate instructors and I am sure that all of those here will give them their complete and full attention.

"Unfortunately, Ms .Linnere, the head of our English department, has departed us to become Head at St. Agatha's School in Connecticut. St. Agatha's has a proud history of producing national leaders in education and Ms. Linnere will follow in the footsteps of greatness. Ms. Bellus will be taking over in English this year, students should be on their guards that changes are coming and that patience will be demanded of you.

"I thank the parents for their contributions to our endowment this year. We have been entrusted with your sons and daughters, and we do not take these great responsibilities lightly. It is our hope that your sons and daughters will be the beneficiaries of our good work here. Thank you for working with us, especially when your children make poor choices."

A girl whispered to Daria. "And trust, me, they make poor choices _all_ the time."

"No different from my last school," said Daria. "There you could get shot in class."

"_Really_?" she whispered. "You sit next to me from now on. Oh, I _so_ want to know more about you!" Her delivery was flat, but her eyes betrayed strong intelligence.

"Furthermore," said the speaker, "it has come to my attention that there has been a scandal at Howe Grammar in Manhattan. It appears that the students there were paying hundreds of dollars an hour for private tutors to complete their homework assignments." The student body responded with chuckling.

The speaker's aspect turned ice cold. "I shall tell each of you - and I point my finger towards this group of new students -!" The speaker pointed out the section in which Daria was sitting. "I will tell you that at **Fielding**, we produce the leaders of men and women. We do not take the easier road here. We take the harder road. There are many ex-students of Fielding that will testify to the truth of that. That is why your parents sent you here instead of to Howe Grammar, or to some other school where the staff are in the pockets of wealthy, and well-meaning - but ultimately ill-intentioned parents. Your professors will demand academic excellence. It will be _expected_ of you. You will prove your knowledge every day, and any tutors you care to pay to produce homework will not be there when you are interrogated and your knowledge is put to the test in your orals."

"_We expect excellence in everything._ It is here that you will take the first step on the path that you walk in the world. You will form the social relationships that will serve you well in the future. You will feed your body in Fielding sports, and we will feed your soul in Chapel. You might claim to be an atheist, but you will _not_ be excused from Chapel. You will learn music and learn drama. You will learn selflessness. You will be loved, cherished, and understood, and so you shall seek to love and understand others."

"Congratulations to each of you. Dismissed."

The auditorium emptied out quickly. Everyone from third graders to seniors fled the room quickly. Daria turned to her fellow student. "Well, I guess both of us are stuck here now."

"Actually, I've been stuck here since third grade. He didn't tell you about the bullying and the casual racism. The older girls will be dunking the heads of the third graders in the commodes before lunchtime. This must be your first experience with a school like Fielding."

"Oh, _joy_," said Daria. "I'm in a hellhole."

"Well, hell can be comfortable if you make it so. I'm _Elsie Sloane_. Trust me, we're going to be good friends...!"


	2. Chapter 2

Daria's first class at Fielding - mathematics - was a real eye-opener. At Highland High School, Daria was in an "advanced" class - trigonometry - with a bunch of seniors. Here, trig was a sophomore level class, and Daria was now taking pre-calculus. In junior year, she'd be ready for calc.

The professor - the "profs" as they were called - was the very animated Mr. Anderson, a young black man with short cropped hair. He would attack the board with a fury for a few seconds and then lecture to the class for five minutes before returning to his pride and joy, to covering the board with mathematical arcana.

There were a few kids in class that looked interested. Many looked bored. _At least_, thought Daria, _they got that part of the school experience right_.

Daria's attention was drawn to a young woman with long brown hair in the front of the class. At Fielding one wore class blazers, but even so, there was some unwritten protocol regarding what should be worn and how it should be worn. Daria guessed that she would never "pass" but this girl looked like she belonged at Fielding. She seemed to be paying very close attention to Mr. Anderson.

Daria covered the blank paper in her binder in the same manner that Anderson covered the blackboard, taking notes furiously. There was only one other person taking notes; the rest of the class gave Anderson various levels of attention. As Daria turned to the right, she noticed Long Haired Girl with some sort of all-day sucker in her mouth. Long Haired Girl became Lollipop Girl in her mind's eye.

She had noticed it in other classes. Kids would bring candy or soda to class, and as long as they minded their matters, they could snack or drink during a "lecture". It certainly seemed that the girl, whoever she was, was minding her matters. She wasn't making a lot of noise. Daria wondered if she should have brought something to eat.

That was when it happened. Slowly..and quite deliberately...Lollipop Girl moved the sucker all the way to the back of her mouth...and then, holding it by its paper stem, moved it all the way out to her lips, embracing the round ball with her lips sensually and slowly, rhythmically drawing it out, before sending it back in again, sometimes rapidly, sometimes slowly.

Lollipop Girl kept her eyes locked on Anderson the entire time. Her eyes said just as much as her mouth was saying. _My God_, thought Daria, _is that girl...__**fellating**__ that lollipop_?

Lollipop Girl caught the eye of Anderson up at the front of the room. Daria watched the quick interplay between the two of them. Lollipop Girl gave Anderson a high-beam look and her work with the sucker would have levitated the back tendons of an eighty-year old scoutmaster.

Anderson, embarrased, turned away. Lollipop Girl smiled. Daria wanted to crawl under the table.

(* * *)

"Oh yeah," said Elsie, "Sue Bentley. She was fucking with Anderson." Daria enjoyed the way that Elsie said "fucking", never dropping the g and always putting the emphasis on the final syllable.

"You know, I always like to see if I can make a teacher cry, but that wouldn't be my optimum strategy."

"Oh, you'll see worse," said Elsie. "You know you're lucky. You have a chance to be invisible."

"What?"

"Let me see your notebooks," said Elsie. Elsie looked at Daria's notes. "Aha. Just as I suspected."

"Do they give off the smell of poverty?" Daria asked. "Am I Little Nell?"

"No. I'll show you my notes at home, and you'll understand. You _shall_ come see me at home?"

_I haven't been invited to anyone's home since grade school. But Elsie seems cool._ "Sure. But I don't have a car so I don't have any way of getting there."

"Don't worry," said Elsie. "_I have a ride._"


	3. Chapter 3

"AAAAAHHHH!!!"

Daria was hanging onto dear life on the back of Elsie Sloane's Vespa. Daria wore Elsie's helmet. Elsie was driving the Vespa like she stole it.

"We're going to get pulled over!"

"I disagree!" shouted Elsie. Elsie shouted a few more words but the Doppler effect erased them as Elsie drove down an open road, finally turning off to the right on an unmarked road.

The road seemed to wind forever, and Daria began to wonder for her safety. _Where the hell is she taking me?_ The destination, wherever it was, was not visible from any main road.

As Elsie shifted her Vespa into high gear, Daria could make out a house up ahead. Even though the house appeared small in the distance, Daria knew that the house was quite large up close. _So this is how they live at Fielding._

Elsie pulled up to the long driveway and took the Vespa to a detached garage near the side of the house. Daria watched as Elsie opened the creaking doors by hand. There was at least one vehicle in the garage, covered in a grey tarp. Elsie dropped the kickstand and sealed her scooter in the empty building.

"How many acres? Corn or sorghum?" Daria asked, taking off her helmet.

"I don't know," Elsie said. "Now, don't let's keep anyone waiting."

(* * *)

Elsie rang the door, and then opened it. "Mom? Dad? Tom?" The voice echoed in the empty expanse. Daria saw a grand piano in one corner of the room. Elsie, hearing no response, marched upstairs.

Daria tried - sometimes trying and failing - not to leave her mouth open enough to draw flies. Elsie marched straight to her room, dropped her book bag, and jumped onto her bed. The bed was made, and everything was neat, the walls colored in a muted pastel pink with a poster on the wall which read "SPAIN". It was a tourist poster, with futuristic-looking solid white buildings of odd shapes in the foreground and the view of the ocean behind.

"You make your bed?" Daria asked. "That's clearly not normal behavior."

"No it isn't," said Elsie, off-handedly. "And that's why I don't make it. Now. Come over here."

Elsie's "desk" was a small wooden table. Daria admired Elsie's P. G. Wodehouse collection while Elsie powered up her Wizard computer. She clicked over to a file that read "Notes".

"Who do you have for English?"

"Ms. Merritt."

"Oh, she's a dear." It was rare obvious approval. Elsie found a subfolder called "Merritt", which contained several numbered files. She clicked on one of the .pdf files and the screen filled. Daria gave the file a brief glance. The file, several pages long, appeared to be a lecture notes file.

"So that's how you get away without taking notes," Daria said. "You have someone taking them for you."

"Well, no, although I could. Hmm...that gives me an idea. Anyway, Merritt has tenure. And as they say, she hasn't been a teacher for twelve years, she's been a teacher for one year, twelve times in a row. I doubt she'll deviate from her notes. And if she doesn't, someone will be kind enough to transcribe them."

"They didn't tell me about this."

"Of course not, Daria. _You're supposed to know that already_. The morgue, as they call it, is a Fielding tradition."

"So that kid in math class who was taking the notes was taking them for everybody."

"Yes." Elsie let the s trail off. "By tonight, something will be posted. It's a server at Fielding, but you need an FTP password. It will save you from working your fingers to death. Give me your e-mail address and I'll send it to you."

Daria could hear the sound of a doorbell ringing downstairs. There was silence afterwards. "Who's that?"

"Oh!" said Elsie with disdain. "That's Thomas. My brother."

"Little brother?" Daria had about twenty Quinn stories lined up in a queue, ready for release.

"No. _Twin_. Fraternal twin. Rather unfortunate. It just goes to show that blood might be a precondition for success, but never a guarantee."

"_WHERE'S DAD? ELSIE?_"

Elsie sighed. "We have to deal. Come on. We'll get the formalities out of the way."

(* * *)

Elsie and Daria walked out into the upstairs hallway. A figure was climbing up the stairs. "Where's Dad?" it asked, to no one, as neither Elsie nor Daria can see it.

"Am I my father's keeper?" Elsie asked, arms crossed.

"Maybe you should paraphrase Our Lord and Savior instead of the Father of Murderers," came the response. "_Pater dimitte illis non enim sciunt quid faciunt._"

The figure finally revealed itself. He was a young man of medium height with brown hair, clear, intelligent eyes and a kindly disposition. He wore a Fielding blazer. He noticed Daria, and his smile broadened.

"Daria, Thomas," said Elsie. "Thomas, Daria."

"Call me Tom. Don't mind Elsie here," Tom said.

Daria was paralyzed. He was definitely good looking. _Must...must think of something witty to say...._

"Hey."

"Hey. It appears that Elsie's programming isn't complete. You're actually pleasant."

"Programming?" snorted Elsie. "I call it decontamination. Trust me, Daria, his surface charm is painted an inch thick."

"Hamlet, Act Five," said Tom.

"_Scene One_," Daria answered, to Elsie's displeasure.

"Don't encourage him," Elsie said, taking Daria by the elbow. "Tom, isn't there a square dance somewhere that's missing a hog caller?"

(* * *)

The doctor shined her scope into Daria's eyes. She returned to her desk and looked at the report. "Hmm. It seems that your glasses are a necessity. Maybe you should try contact lenses."

"Hmm," said Daria, as if in thought. "I didn't know Fielding had _opthamologists_ performing a physical. You might want to explain that breast exam, Doc."

The doctor muttered to himself. Daria's sarcasm was wearing thin on his nerves. "And because of your poor eyesight, you'd like to be excused from a sport."

"Right." Elsie had told Daria that if she wasn't participating in a sport, Daria and Elsie could take General Fitness together. _Trust me_, Elsie said, _this is an exam you want to fail_.

"Yes..Miss Morgendorffer. Tell me...what do your parents do for a living?"

"I wish to take the Fifth Amendment."

"Let's see," he said, looking at Daria's medical records. "Your mother is an associate at Vitale et. al. Good firm, I know the Riordans. Your father is a pharmaceutical salesman. Tut tut. It must be costing them a fortune to send you here. Oh! You and _your sister_ here. It also looks like you're not boarding. By choice or by necessity?"

"Is that any of your business?"

"No. Of course, if things change financially for your family, and they can't afford to send you here, Fielding might make an exception for an athlete."

Daria sighed. "So which sport is going to accept someone who is half-blind?"

"Well, field hockey is out of the question. So is fencing. So is volleyball. I understand that at Highland High School you were a _swimmer_."

"No. I had a gym class where we had to prove that we could swim. I'm buoyant enough to stay afloat. But given my height," Daria smiled, "I'd be at a disadvantage when it comes to competitive swimming. Or at water polo. So there's nowhere you can put me."

The doctor smiled. "Oh trust me, Miss Morgendorffer, there's somewhere I'd _love to put you_. But since I don't have a shovel and two hours of free time, I came up with the next best thing." He was almost gleeful. 'Fielding, Fielding, rah rah ree!'"

(* * *)

Daria and Elsie arrived at the appointed place the next day. Elsie couldn't believe her eyes. "No. Fucking. Way."

It was the high-dive platform at Fielding's Olympic-sized pool. To Daria, it looked like it was a thousand feet high. "I'm sure Fielding's swim team has no high-diver," Elsie said.

"_They do now_," Daria muttered.


	4. Chapter 4

Jason held Quinn's books. "Excuse me, Quinn." He put the books down in the hallway. "Now step off, you dumb Spic greaser."

Clayton smiled. "You think you can _make me_?"

Jason's pleasant countenance turned sour. Clayton's smile was temporarily dented at the end of Jason's fist, which arrived forthwith.

Clayton had the height and leverage; Jason had more endurance. This was a _real fight_, or would have been if the two didn't look like fifth graders fighting at McDonald's. The fight had to make up in energy what it lacked in pugilistic skill.

A circle formed around the combatants. It was a great first day. Quinn was positively giddly. "Oh guys...you don't _have to fight over me_! Really...it's not necessary...! Please..._stoppp_."

(* * *)

Patrick Hackney came into the small room that served as the History II room. It was history for boys, not for girls. Fielding might be co-ed, but the Bitchmas Accords (as they were called in Fielding tradition) mandated that the genders were segregated instructionally. The teacher was female, but the students were all male.

Hackney threw his books down. Tom Sloane looked up. "You rang?"

"Oh Pope, I've fallen in love!"

"Again?" Tom smiled. "All right, Pat. Come to Pope Thomas, and tell us what young lady has led you astray from your life of celibacy."

"She has long red hair and a perfect smile, and her name is Quinn Morgendorffer. I intend to make this young red flower _mine_. I'm _in_...to _win_...for _Quinn_."

"Morgendorffer," thought Tom. "I've heard the name, but I can't remember where. And you think I'd remember a name like that."

"She's a new girl," Pat said. "You've not heard about the blood that was spilled?"

"What?"

"Jason and Clayton had it out. Jason was carrying Quinn's books and Clayton began striking up a conversation with Quinn." Pat mimicked Clayton's Texas drawl with a trace of a Boston accent. "Hey there little lady, my name's Clayton Arbusto. I'd surrrre like to get to know you better." Well, Jason took offense."

"Jason Pratt _unstraightened his tie_?" Tom asked. "Oh my, my, my!"

"Yep. _Punches were thrown_. Both got called up to the Head. Clayton has a black eye, Jason Pratt will be working with the Mexicans out on the lawn for the next two weeks, and I consider both out of the running. The field is wide fucking open."

"Why I can't believe it!" It was the flamboyant Terry Wicklemore. "You're gutter diving."

"Sir," said Pat, "there is nothing wrong with the concept. Ask His Holiness over here. I would dive down ten miles to the bottom of the dirty Mississippi for some private time with Quinn, even though raw sewage."

"Patrick Hackney the seventh is going to get his cuffs scuffed?" Terry asked. "The world turned upside down. And what's Mum going to say?"

"'Mum' is not going to know, because no one is going to tell her, especially you, you fag."

"And what's dear Sue Bentley going to say?" asked Tom.

"Fuck Sue," Pat said. "I'm tired of Sue. I'm tired of her incessant demands, none of which are for coitus."

"You can't Drop a Top," Tom said. "Dropping Sue Bentley for some anonymous girl at the coffee shop? That's out of my sister's Wodehouse novels. Pat, they'll demote you one ordinal number. We'll have to call you Patrick Hackney the sixth from now on."

"Falling to five-and-a-half, with a bullet," Terry sang.

"It shows you what the two of you know. Terry," said Pat, "we're talking about women, and not guys, so fuck your useless knowledge. As for you, Pope, you don't even fish in this pond. Some of the fellows are getting together and there will be a new list."

"That's in October," said Tom. "Which means one month of Hail Mary Full of Graces Sue Bentley is with me for you."

"No," said Pat. "Out with the old, in with the new I say." Which, Tom thought, would be the first time that Pat Hackney VII ever turned tradition aside.

(* * *)

At 2:30 pm, as every member of the Tops checked her Blackberry, each young Fielding woman found the following message:

**EMERGENCY meeting at 6:45 pm  
be THERE!  
-Eddie**

Surely enough, after dinner, twenty young women met in the Chapel basement for the impromptu Tops meeting. The youngest of the girls was thirteen, the oldest was eighteen. All of them were attractive and poised young women, well dressed, well versed in the difference between a Louis Vutton and a Canal Street "Frauda". What would have been impossible to notice is that each wore an inscribed gold bracelet.

A young woman with dark black hair in a pony tail and impossibly long legs stood up and rattled her bracelet. "Tops, Tops!" she cried.

Everyone else stood up. "Tops, Tops!" was the call and response.

The group sat down. Edmonda "Eddie" Sterling was the Tops Chair. "_Topisiennes_, I'm calling an emergency meeting because the boys are asking for a new Tops list to be released."

The response was immediate. "Term just started!" cried Sue Bentley. "The boys have to have a chance to look around, at least. Tops List doesn't even begin until October." It looked for a few seconds as if a riot would break out.

"Quiet!" Eddie shouted. "Well, the boys want to start the Tops List _now_. There's some new girl that has everyone has fallen in love with. Some poor girl named Quinn Morgendorffer."

"Definitely Enn Oh Kay Dee," Sue Bentley answered. "She has a fugly sister called Daria. I have Anderson in maths with her."

"Has anyone even _seen_ this Quinn Morgenwhatever?" a blond with Paris Hilton bangs asked. "I don't know her."

"Well, the boys know her," Eddie said. "They were all bumping into each other like a bunch of rutting pigs. You heard about that fight in the hallway between Jason Pratt and Clayton Arbusto?"

"They're going to put some _slut_ in Tops?" Sue Bentley's voice went from _piano_ to _fortissimo_. "We'll just take Tops away from them," Bentley said. "We'll decide who gets into Tops and who doesn't."

"Now now, Sue," said Eddie. "Don't let's get carried away. Does anyone know Quinn Morgendorffer?"

A hand went up. "I know her!" It was a well dressed young woman named Emily Drake. "She's got fashion sense. Very pleasant. Totally not a bitch. Kathy Griffin red hair, long, scrunchie. Pins on the blazer, and she rolled her skirt when she came in the door. Good shoes, expensive, but she could do better. Nice accessories. Pearls."

"I saw her too," said another young woman. "She's in my English class. I chatted with her. Nice. But she's no brain. However she got to Fielding, it wasn't on merit, because she doesn't _parlez la bouche_."

"Well nice or not," said Eddie, "_Topisiennes_ are more than just ordinary pretty girls. Tops is for Tops, not for those genetic lottery winners riding poles in flyover towns. I need to know more about her. Katey," Eddie said, pointing to a fourteen-year old girl, "see if she's a _lege_." The word was pronounced "leZH".

"Got it."

"Freeze her out, for now. Don't let's get too friendly with her. We have to know more about her before we lower ourselves. We can decide what to do later, but make no enemies before we know if she's hooked up."

"Don't put your socks in a dirty puddle," Sue added. "Remember..._not our kind_." Her Blackberry buzzed. "Oh shit. It's Pat. What does he want?"

**Sue, it's over. Get lost. I want my ring back.**

--Pat VII

There might have been a rest of the Tops meeting, but Sue Bentley never heard any of it.


	5. Chapter 5

Quinn walked into the lunchroom looking for a place to sit. She finally found Patty Drake, sitting near the window, an empty chair nearby.

"Patty!" Quinn waved. Patty's face turned ashen for a few seconds, before she said, "Hello, Quinn!"

Quinn sat down. "Patty, let me ask you something. Everybody's taking about 'The Knowledge'. What's _that_ supposed to - ?"

"Oh! Quinn! Excuse me for a moment! I totally forgot about this appointment with one of the profs!" Patty smiled disarmingly. "We'll have to talk some other time, Quinn." With that, Patty grabbed her tray of food - only one quarter eaten - and bussed it herself, leaving an entire apple behind.

Quinn sighed. Yesterday, every girl wanted to talk to her; today, no one did. But it was weird. She wasn't being frozen out, or told to 'talk to the hand' or something that she herself might have pulled at Highland Middle School. Everyone was very polite...but no one wanted to spend any time with her...they looked positively unsettled about it.

A young girl that Quinn didn't recognize walked up to where Patty was setting. She had blond, curly hair and freckles and seemed to be about twelve years old. Quinn was surprised as she reached over for the apple. "Sorry. Patty forgot this."

"Well, you can go tell Patty Drake that if she doesn't want to talk to me, she doesn't _have_ to. Trust me, I don't need friends like _that_."

"Oh!" It was a cry. "I bet the Tops made her do it. She's a Top. Don't blame Patty for it, she has to do what they tell her to do."

"What's a 'Top'?" asked Quinn. She didn't know if she liked these 'Tops' whatever they were.

"The Tops are the _tops_. They're the most fashionable, most elegant, most _dreamy_ girls at Fielding. You look for the gold bracelet. That's how you know who they are. Everyone wants to be a Top." The girl sighed. "I have to go."

"Wait!" said Quinn.

The girl turned back around. "What's your name?" Quinn asked, genuinely interested.

"It's Jill," the girl said.

"Hi, Jill. I'm Quinn!"

"Quinn." The girl smiled as if it were a magic word. "If you want to know something, just tell me. I hear that you're new here."

"Yeah," said Quinn. "So what is 'The Knowledge'?"

"I'll talk to you _later_!" Jill positively bounced away. Quinn watched her go. _Everyone keeps all the really good stuff secret. It never changes._

(* * *)

"What the hell is this?" said Daria, looking at a printed booklet. "You're telling me that I have to memorize all of this crap?"

"Think of it as sorority rush," said Elsie. "It's the history of Fielding. That booklet is crammed with a lot of useless stuff. Trust some senior to walk up to you and expect you to rattle off some mindless fact about the glory days of Fielding. There are also some facts that aren't in the book, and those you have to pick up from others. It's a good thing the 'rents were Old Fielding, so I know the vocab."

"Okay. Then what if I don't do it?"

"Then you'll be asked to do something horribly humiliating."

"And if I refuse to do _that_?"

"Then you're a living target," said Elsie. "They shut you out of everything. Antisocial. Or they just subject you to various forms of physical abuse when no one is looking. I lasted for about a week, and then I made an abject apology to the senior girls, who made me run a lap around the campus that night wearing only my underwear."

"Ow."

"_Not_ the thing you want to do when you're eight years old. I was quite obstinate...but I was cured. Remember when I said that you wanted to flunk the mandatory physical? Well, you don't want to flunk this, dear, or you insult all of our 'dear, dear ancestors of Fielding', wherever the hell they're rotting now. It's why I refuse to be a boarder."

Daria flipped through the book. "What's Grove Hills doing in there? I almost ended up there."

"_Really_?" Elsie smiled. "Lucky you to end up at Fielding."

"Grove Hills is looking better and better," Daria said.

"Oh. Come now. Grove Hills used to be where they sent young girls before Fielding became co-ed. Did you know that when the young men of Fielding were told that Fielding was going co-ed, they _rioted_ and they took some profs hostage? Which is where I have derived the motto: 'Dear Old Queer Old Fielding'. Why, as a young maiden you're as safe as a house here!"

Daria chuckled. "You can drag anyone into the 21st century if you have enough rope."

"Hardly", sniffed Elsie. "That was in _1971_. April 9th, 1971 one day after old Head Adams announced the change. They call April 9th 'Bitchmas' and it is celebrated here by the males every April with great fervor. You won't find 'Bitchmas' anywhere in that little book. I always make sure I miss school that day." Elsie smiled. "Besides, you're lucky that you made it to Fielding. Grove Hills is a factory school now."

Elsie told the story of how Grove Hills faced two problems after Fielding allowed women. The first was the obvious decline in enrollment. The second was a campus fire that virtually burned the place to the ground. "They had to eat their endowment, and take _anybody_. The only people left at Grove Hills were the antisocial brains that couldn't make Fielding."

"I'm an antisocial brain."

"Then I'm sure you'll attend the Fielding-Grove Hills mixer next month," said Elsie. "Trust me, you'll see what I mean. Besides, Daria, you're not really an _asshole_. And besides, those _urmie_ kids there are the -- " Elsie suddenly stopped, putting her hand to her mouth.

"What are they?"

"Nothing," Elsie said holding her tongue. "I almost succumbed to a gross impoliteness in public. Oh Daria, can you _ever_ forgive me?"

Daria smiled. "I'll let it go this time."


	6. Chapter 6

There were only fifteen girls in Daria's English II class, and none of them seemed to be particularly talkative. Each of them had formed their own cliques; there was no room for an outsider. Daria's few brief observations were accepted with politeness, but the other girls soon returned to speaking with the same old friends they always had.

Elsie told her that this would happen. "Try not to be surprised if you can't make friends. You're not a Border Collie. It's said that one year at a boarding school is like seven years at a regular school, and those bitches have a lot of dog years behind them." Daria took that to mean that the girls, for the most part, had very close friendships with each other, reinforced with all the feminine bonding that comes with living in close quarters for extended periods of time. _Which makes me the outsider again._

The only girl that wasn't involved in some sort of conversation besides Daria was a mousy looking girl with black hair tied with a ribbon behind her head. She sat in the front row, near the window. The hair ribbon was tied so tightly that it gave the poor girl an impromptu face-lift. In contrast to the others, the young woman looked disheveled - as if she slept in her Fielding blazer.

Ms. Merritt passed out the homework assigned the previous day. "Class, I had some wonderful essays returned to me, so I can see we have a very impressive young group of scholars this term. Come along, students. Before we begin the class discussion, I'd like us to discuss the metaphors that Shakespeare returns to time and again in his sonnets. The starting point for our discussion will be Sonnet Number 74...."

Daria looked at the grade. **82**, it read. Whatever "wonderful essay" was "returned" to Ms. Merritt, apparently this one wasn't one of them.

Daria couldn't shake it off. _I got an 82? Or, as Elsie would call it, 'a ****ing 82?'_ As Merritt started her discussion, Daria could not pay attention. She read her paper closely.

There were marks through the grammar of her essay - the essay had been virtually copy-edited. _Fails to persuade_ was one damning comment made through a bulky paragraph. _A first draft?_ was the comment at the end.

Like it or not, Daria had to admit it: it was a first draft. There had never been a need to rewrite an essay - anything she produced at Highland High was good enough. She could get 98s just by mailing something in, writing something at the last hour. But for her first class, she had not mailed it in. Yes, she didn't _revise_ her work, but at least she put some thought into what she was attempting to say.

Result: 82. Barely B-level work.

Daria knew she had missed the first part of the lecture. The only girl who was writing notes was Mousy Girl. Daria figured that maybe, even though the notes were on the FTP site, that she should be writing notes as well. Holding back a sigh, she pulled out pen and paper.

Daria was not called upon in the ensuing class discussion. It became clear to Daria that there were at least three girls who seemed to be Ms. Merritt's favorites. Mousy Girl - known as "Ms. Davidson" - and two others. It became even clearer that none of these young women were favorites because of their looks, or lack of looks, or style, or lack of style - each of these girls, Daria's potential rivals, knew the material and could expound upon it. _They weren't dummies._

As the class departed, Daria sized up the room into "scholars" and "everybody else". She wanted to be in the "scholar" category. The other two girls were too well dressed, too glib, slightly too haughty or too off-putting. This left Mousy Girl as the target.

Mousy Girl was the last to leave, putting her pens and pencils carefully in her beaten-down wooden box. Daria timed her own departure to coincide with Mousy Girl's.

"Hey," Daria said.

Mousy Girl pulled her books closer to her, terrified. "Please leave me alone," she said, not even looking at Daria, and hurried away.

(* * *)

Quinn's English I paper was handed back to her. Patty Drake - when Patty was still speaking to her - told her that Mr. Goodlett was an ass. The paper confirmed it.

**63**. _Oh well_, Quinn told herself, _"D for __**done**__."_ She thought about how muddy the sidewalks were at Fielding. _You think they could fix that for all that money._


	7. Chapter 7

Tom chatted with his friends Pat and Terry in History II. The work load, as usual, was monstrous. Pat had already decided on a gentleman's "C", whereas Terry and Tom made plans to ace this course no matter what it took.

"Pope Thomas, as you love history so much, I want to sit by you in case I want to cheat. You have a mind like a sieve. And I absolutely promise not to grab your balls," Terry promised. "And I'm tired of reading the reflection in Pat Seven's specs for the answers. It's become so bad I'm starting to write from right to left now."

"I was worried about that," said Tom. "Not about the writing, but about my balls."

"Hi hi, everyone!" The four or five students who had made it to History II were interrupted by Mike van Haut, last year's frosh president. "Gents, we have Tops List early this year, as you know." He rested a stack of papers near the door. "It's so easy it's botch-proof. Either send it back to my room tonight or e-mail your choices to . You'll see that the others get their lists?"

"Sure," said Tom.

"Right. Goodbye." And with that, Mr. van Haut disappeared.

Terry took his list and wadded it up, throwing it towards the wastebasket, missing by eight feet. "Oh dear. No NBA contract for me."

"Good Lord, man," cried Pat. "Certainly you have an opinion?"

"I have an opinion that it's a waste of time. Deciding which self-centered bitch is the bitchiest? Gentlemen, the dark shadow cast over Fielding in 1971 remains with us all. I suppose you've put Miss Quinn Morgendorffer at the top of your Tops?"

"Oh yes," said Pat. "Twenty times over, in triplicate if necessary. Your Holiness, might I ask for a vote for the Divine Vision?" (Pat seemed to have a new phrase for Quinn every day.)

"I'll throw her a bone."

"Now now, Thomas," said Pat, "it's very unsporting to cut in. I intend to fill Ms. Morgendorffer's dance card, along with anything else that - hee hee - might need filling. Why, it would be rude not to."

"Riiiiight," said Tom. "I didn't mean it that way. Mr. Hackney, I cede my _droit de seigneur_ to the better man."

"Hear, hear!" Terry smiled.

"Besides," said Tom, "I hear that Quinn Morgendorffer is as dumb as a box of hammers."

"Oh Pope." It was Terry, sighing. "You'll never find a soulmate. Not until you master parthenogeneis."

(* * *)

"So what do you think?" Elsie asked, as the two sat in their Introduction to Law class.

"Let me get this straight," Daria said. "Your mother pays _$100 an hour_ for your tutoring? A C-note? And that's just for someone to tell you which words to highlight on the PDF file?"

"That's nothing," said another girl with a pigtail. "If you suck suck suck, it can go up to $125 an hour."

"And you want _me_...to tutor _you_?"

"Yup. Twice a week, minimum."

"Why do I think I'm a charity case?"

"Oh Daria, don't be so. Fact is, the tutors I've got are wasted on me, anyway. I just want to pass with minimal effort. And none of them have truly helped. So if the money is going to be wasted, why not waste it on someone I like? And why be bored wasting time with some tutor who just wants to look down my blouse, like the last one?"

"Your mother is never going to go for it."

"_My_ mother will not look into it. If my grades remain the same, she'll just stop payment."

"You don't get it Elsie. I don't think I'm the person to tutor you, even though I appreciate the scheme. And I'm not going to say that I don't want the money because that would be bull****. Right now...I'm not getting off on the right foot." Daria explained the trouble she was having in Ms. Merritt's class.

"Daria, you're the smartest person I know, save for my brother. Literally. I don't want to bother with any of the other smart people here. They're all basket cases, little grinnnnnnds." Elsie mimed someone slumped over at her desk, feverously scribbling.

"Yeah, I met someone like that in Merritt's class. Davidson."

"Oh. Miss Davidson." Elsie knew the name. "Crazy as a bat. And of course, she gets abused horribly for it, so she becomes even more maladjusted. A vicious cycle, seen many times before."

The prof entered the room. "Daria, if you're worried, we can make an exception and speak with Thomas. He's the one to speak with if you want to earn good grades."

(* * *)

It only took a text message.

**Tom - my friend wants to know how to be just like you, God help her - share your madness at lunch - Els**

"Hey." Tom sat down across from Elsie and Daria.

"Hey," Daria said in response. _Great. I was hoping he would get uglier, but he hasn't. He looks even better in his Fielding blazer. Maybe I can get some tutoring from him. No. No, that's asking for too much, too soon. I have to play it cool. If he even pays attention to me at all._

"Weren't you over at Elsie's a few nights ago?" Daria tried to hold in her joy at the recognition as much as possible.

"True," said Elsie. "Thomas Sloane, once again, Daria Morgendorffer. Daria, Thomas."

"_Morgendorffer_. You're Quinn Morgendorffer's...cousin? Or nanny? Or adopted child found in the gutter? The story seems to change every time I hear it, but I suspect that you share more than a name."

"Ah," said Daria. "Then you've met Quinn. If you give me two bucks, you can keep her."

"I've not met her," said Tom, "but she's fast becoming a legendary figure. I suspect her upkeep is more than two bucks."

Tom smiled. Daria smiled back. Tom tried to look beyond the glasses.

"Thomas, young Daria here wants to become a _grrrrrind_. I believe she wants to win the Scholastic Cup."

"It looks like Ms. Merritt," said Daria, "will be the end of a long undefeated streak of 'A's."

"Hmm. Knowledge is coming up, right?" said Tom.

"Don't remind me."

"Do you know the name of Stephen Stuart? They're going to ask you that question. Someone will. Anyway, Stewie was the last person at Fielding to graduate with a 4.0 average. _That was 12 years ago_. He's entered the field of myth. They tell stories about him."

Daria thought about Highland High School. The last year she was there, _six_ kids had graduated with 4.0 averages.

"This prospective 'B' has Daria all aflutter," said Elsie.

"Heh. Every now and then," said Thomas, "I can swoop and grab an easy 'A'. Other times, you have to be happy with a 'B' and there are a couple of 'C' teachers that you have to stay clear of."

Tom noticed the dismissive look on Daria's face. "You want to..._say something_?"

"So are you telling me that they don't give 'A's - or that people _choose not to earn them_?"

"I'm speaking of about priorities. I have a 3.43 average here at Fielding. That's very good here. That will get me a Bromwell or Crestview admission or anywhere I care to go. If you achieve a 3.43, any Ivy should take you if you don't pick the interviewer's nose for him. If you get a 3.6, I'd apply to Oxford or Cambridge. 'A's don't fall from trees at Fielding."

"Could you have earned the 'A' if you chose to?"

"Yes," sighed Tom. "Yes, if I had agreed to sleep four hours a night and cut my social life down to nothing, I could have probably grabbed an 'A' in Merritt's class. Some people did, but they were all brilliant. I don't have the aptitude in English Lit. I ended up with a 'C'. I was happy to get it. I suggest you cut your losses. The only way you'll get an 'A' from Merritt is if you've read every Great Book in the Canon."

"In that case," said Daria. "You might as well point me to the library. Or give me Stephen Stuart's address."

"Hmm. He's at the Cato Institute now. I'll bet money he's easy to locate. Send him an e-mail. Tell him you're from Fielding. Who knows, maybe he'll answer it?"

(* * *)

The next night, Edmonda "Eddie" Sterling called a meeting of the Tops in Chapel basement. "_Topisiennes_, we have a final placement list. We will have two new girls in Tops this year."

"Two Tops?" said Patty Clark. "But there's only one Tops spot, am I right?"

"Correct. I am sad to say that one of us shall no longer be Tops." It was news that Eddie didn't want to give. Tradition had it that only a certain number of girls at Fielding could be Tops. That meant that one person in the room would be losing her bracelet. The response from the crowd was complete silence. Those who felt on shaky ground as Tops could feel the wind of the dropping blade of the guillotine. "In order to preserve the dignity of that person who will be leaving us, that name shall not be announced at this meeting.

"The new Tops are as follows: Misha Jannison, 8th grade. Quinn Morgendorffer, frosh." Sue Bentley's snort could be heard in the deepest corner of the room, as Bentley examined her fingernails carefully.

"I know Misha. She's the best!" someone said. "But I haven't had the chance to say much to Quinn."

"We've been forbidden," said Patty. "_The interdict_."

"Chair, isn't Quinn's prospective status as a Top in doubt?" Sue asked.

"Hardly. I'm the only one who knows final placement. And trust me, dear Sue - she outplaced _you_." _And me._ As the crowd gasped - the thought that Sue Bentley could be displaced from what was undoubtedly a high ranking gave many pause - Eddie hoped that the fact would finally shut Sue Bentley's mouth.

Bentley was not dissuaded. "Chair, and fellow Tops, I would like to remind each of us that Tops is a society of _peers_. Quinn Morgendorffer is hardly a peer. I have it on good word - never mind where - that she was kicked out of her little Texas school for some heinous reason. I've heard that she might have pulled a knife on a student, or that maybe she was caught giving one of her teachers a blow job. The truth is sooooo cloudy. It is clear, however, that the only way Quinn Morgendorffer could get into Fielding is _face up_."

"Even if, for some outlandish reason, she was able to deceive someone important who might consider her as a charity case, _Tops are Tops_. Some of our families are first families. We're in the Social Register. Quinn Morgendorffer just _doesn't have the background_ to be a Top. Blood tells. Look at her dykey 'cousin', keeping company with the Queen Bitch. Breeding tells, and bad breeding _yells_. If you let Quinn Morgendorffer become a Top - then you destroy everything that Tops has stood for - and the _Old Tops_ will get their say, I'm sure."

Eddie recognized the implicit threat. "Very well. Katy, I told you to find out if Quinn was a _lege_ or not. What gives?"

"There are no Morgendorffers in the Social Register," said Sue, "I've looked. She's not a lege."

Katy answered. "Sue told me to wait and see if Quinn made Tops."

_Sue Bentley is __**not**__ Tops Chair, not yet. I'll hold my tongue for now._ "Then, Katy, you will return _as soon as possible_ with what you find. If you do not come up with an answer, you'll be _punished_. No more excuses. You report to me..._only_. Understood."

Katy tried not to pass out. "Yes, Chair."

"I probably can't stop any of you from giving Misha the good news, but if the boys find out that Quinn isn't on that list, there will be hell to pay. They're expecting a bloody inauguration tomorrow. So I am asking for discretion. If you tell Misha - or Quinn - anything, you threaten what Tops is about."

(* * *)

The inquiries began almost immediately. The boys wanted to know the names of the new Tops - the new Tops would be the girls most in demand, as almost every Top was spoken for save Sue Bentley. Ronnie stated that the information was not to be shared until Eddie notified the newest Tops. Eddie answered back to Ronnie that a question had come up at Tops meeting "regarding some arcane rule" and that hopefully the publication of the Tops List would be delayed for no more than 24 hours. The boys grumbled but had no recourse.

Katy, meanwhile, was put to work. Hoping to be a future CEO, Katy was one of the few girls who volunteered for Fielding, working in Fielding's accounting department. ("In order to know business, you have to follow the money.") She contributed six hours a week doing minor chores for Fielding's two overworked accountants and hoping to learn by osmosis.

There was no guarantee that her approach would be successful, but she knew that in the cabinet marked "11B" - the designation was a remnant of a former Fielding accounting system long since vanished - there was a metal box that contained checks. There was a key to the cabinet, and there was a key to the box. Every so often she was asked to put her hands on some canceled paper check, and she would do so, so she knew the system. The problem was that this required one of the accountants to ask for a check and give her the keys. (The other problem was that the money might have been transferred electronically, but many of the alums defiantly wrote paper checks, trusting no system of accounting developed beyond a gentleman's handshake.)

If she was lucky, both accountants would leave and she'd have a free run at the cabinet. If she was unlucky, she'd have to lie. Today she was unlucky, and she got to try out her story. If she was caught, she feared expulsion.

"Ms. Vincent, someone from the Head's office is asking about Emily Morgan's tuition check."

"Emily Morgan?" said Vincent. "Mrs. Morgan always pays promptly. She's one of the first ones who pays."

_****._ "Mrs. Morgan was asking about the check. She said that we didn't cash it."

"Hff. I can pull up a spreadsheet that keeps the total balance, organized by last name."

"She wants proof." Katy had been forced to invent a further lie on the spur of the moment. Suddenly, Katy realized that one call from Ms. Vincent to the Head's office would spell doom.

"Damned alumni. I have accruals due. I don't have time for this." Ms. Vincent pulled out her keys. "Katy, find the old bat's check and please her. And let me know if that check isn't there, because _there will be hell to pay_."

Gladly, Katy took the keys. One minute later, the cabinet was open and the metal box was in her hands. She prayed that Quinn Morgendorffer's family paid by check, or that there was some sort of slip in the check drawer that explained more than she knew.

Thumbing rapidly to the "M"s, she found a check under the "Morgendorffers" file. "Ms. Vincent!" Katy cried. "I found the check!"

"Good!" Ms. Vincent answered. "Be a dear and make a photocopy for the Head."

Katy smiled. Vincent would have forgotten about it the next day. Katy would indeed photocopy a check, but it wouldn't be Emily Morgan's.

(* * *)

Months Earlier

Headmaster Henry Michaelas was enjoying his brief summer respite. Fielding was deserted, as repairmen worked on repainting Underville Hall and the grounds were otherwise attended. An unmarried man, Fielding was Michaelas's life. The oldest of the headmasters, Headmaster Warville, served for thirty-five years as Head; Michaelas hoped to break that record someday but Old Warville had started six years earlier, and Michaelas knew he wasn't getting any younger. However, that did not mean that Michaelas could not rest his body and mind in Greece the following week - he would need all of his strength for July seminars and the Alumni Committee. _They can hire my successor when I'm dead._

His secretary alerted him to a phone call about a prospective admission. He would take it in his office. Parents had been known to beg, borrow, cajole or steal to get on the wait list; there was simply no hope of taking anyone else this term.

"Headmaster Michaelas speaking."

The voice that answered him was the voice of his past. A voice that he had hoped to forget, but one which was beyond forgetting.

"Yes...yes, I'm fine, Bethany, thank you. How are you?"

She would have to be an old woman now. After all, he was an old man. Her voice was almost hypnotic, it brought back old memories and uncomfortable stirrings. It reminded him that he was an adulterer, and worse, it reminded him that there was a time in his life when he thought such concepts were old fashioned. Ugly business best put aside, but now, she was calling again, and stopping that.

He wanted to speak to her forever. He wanted to hang up the phone and tell her never to call him again. He could have gone on, but it was she who told him that it was all over, preferring security and family in the end.

"I see...hmm. Well, you know Fielding has a wait list...I see. I see...I see." Michaelas began to write names on a legal pad.

A pause.

"You know, I never stopped feeling the same way."

Another pause. She had said nothing substantial. Merely dangled the chance in front of him, speaking of how pleasant it was back then.

"December? Hmm, yes. End of term. I'd love to see you again."

There. He said it. His old weakness triumphant.

"Of course. Yes. Yes, _I can make a way_. Bethany, _I decide_ who shall be called to Fielding and who shall not. And the door will be open to them, but they shall have to earn the right to remain here.... Oh, charming. Yes, have someone send the information...no, there shall be no problem whatsoever. Consider it done.... I enjoyed hearing your voice again. Goodbye."

He had agreed to it. Men of industry, politics and power had come begging at his door, and _one woman_ made _one phone call_ and he was a shadow of a man, his resolve evaporated. He didn't care how old she was. He wanted nothing physical.

She would be back. In December. They would meet once again. He sat down in his padded leather chair and gave a heavy sigh.

He called his secretary into the room, handing her a scribbled piece of paper. "Ms. Jones, please contact Highland High School in Highland, Texas. Also contact Highland Middle School. Look in the pending applications file. You'll find the names Morgendorffer. _Daria and Quinn Morgendorffer_. They are to be admitted, forthwith, next term, and you shall add them to our list of enrolled students. I suspect they shall not be boarding with us - they intend to move to Lawndale...."

(* * *)

Eddie looked up the name from the check on her on-line database in the Social Register. Everyone who was _anyone_ was in the Register. Everything they needed to know showed up on screen:

**Mr. and Mrs. Andrew Barksdale IV (Bethany Greene)**

Goldenrod, Field, Br. SoZ (Pres), PCC, SYC  
Miss Maribelle's, GH, SO. Dar, Myf, PCC, SYC.

Children: Rita, Helen, Amy  
Grandchildren: Erin (Rita), Daria, Quinn (Helen)

"That's it," said Eddie. "She's a _lege_. Grandmama paid the way for dear Quinn. And grandmama's a graduate of Grove Hills. Paramont Country Club in Virginia. Old Virginia."

Sue was left silent. "Quinn's blood, dearest Sue, is as blue as yours or mine." Eddie giggled. "Like it or not, we have our newest Top. It's time to tell her."


	8. Chapter 8

The Morgendorffer girls arrived at Fielding the next day. "All right girls," Jake said, "don't do anything here that I wouldn't do." He laughed at his own joke.

"I can't promise that - we might be asked to assemble a rifle blindfolded," Daria answered.

"Really?" Jake asked, astonished.

"No, Daddy," Quinn said. "That's just Daria and her dumb...her dumb...her dumb _whatever-she-does_."

"Oh," said Jake, still slow on the uptake. "Anyway Daria, Quinn, I'll see you when I get back in two weeks." Jake pulled away from the curb and almost rear-ended a vehicle. "DAMMIT! MOVE YOUR CAR, YOU RICH JERK!" The two listened as Jake's curses filled the lane as he drove away, on the way to the airport and his flight to Chicago.

"Only your second week at Fielding," said Daria, "and you're practically _erudite_. You didn't call what I did a 'thing'. By the end of next month, you'll be a grind, just like me."

"_Ugh._ Get lost." Quinn walked away without so much as a goodbye.

Daria smiled. "The best part of the day. Several hours without as much as a word from Quinn. It's going to be a great day."

The crash of thunder overhead belied Daria's hope.

(* * *)

As Quinn walked to find her first class of the day, the rain started falling. "Dammit," Quinn muttered. However, before she could walk very far, she was joined by an unexpected companion.

"Hello, Quinn. How-do-you-do? Name's Pat. Patrick Hackney the Seventh in full, but my chums just call me 'Pat', or even better, 'Pat Seven'. Can't forget the other six, you know. Wouldn't be right, all that hard work for nothing."

Quinn gave Pat a serious evaluation. With everyone dressing more or less the same, she tossed out her clothes-based cues to determine Pat's overall worthiness.

_Blond hair, sloppily combed. Eyeglasses - ugh - with big black frames. Acne scar on right cheek. Crooked teeth. Head is too big. Expensive watch. Frayed belt loop. Expensive Italian shoes, but scuffed._ "Hello. Quinn Morgendorffer." Quinn smiled as she said it, but Quinn's voice betrayed neutrality at best.

"Oh, I thought it would be a shame if you got wet. Here you go!" Pat held his copy of the WSJ over her head.

"Thanks," Quinn said, somewhat perfunctorily.

"Quinn - that is, if I might call you Quinn? Got to move quickly in this world you know, fast friends and all that? Anyways, Mater and Pater were thinking of taking the old wooden scow out to sea in Crabtown. With fall break coming up, let me say that you would be definitely invited - hee hee - 'on board' as they say, nautically. The sea salt is good for your skin, or so they say. Not that you'd need it of course, but you know, 'every little bit'. And there are definitely places to eat and things to see along the meandering path."

"Mmmm. That's nice," Quinn said. "But I have so many plans on fall break. Full schedule! Sorry!"

"Oh, don't let's leave me crestfallen. Tell you what. Do what you can in clearing out the ol' _schedzh_ and we can revisit the matter in, perhaps, a few days?"

"Well...it would be _so impolite_ to turn down my previous commitments. You understand?" Quinn said, batting her eyes.

"Right. Right. Extremely and perniciously impolite to suggest otherwise. Perhaps though, we could make an exception? And there are other fish in the seas, that is to say, other opportunities? You wouldn't happen to have an e-mail address?"

"Uh...yeah. Right. Oops, class. Gotta go." Quinn practically rocketed away. Pat sighed. _Why, even the backs of her knees are cute._

Patty Clark almost accosted Quinn as she walked into Algebra I. "Hi, Quinn!"

"Patty...?"

Patty embraced Quinn. "Oh, Quinn. You have to forgive me for being so inattentive to our dear friendship. It's been such a rotten week. I just wanted to congratulate you for Tops."

"Uh...okay." Quinn still didn't know what 'Tops' was, aside from Jill's vague description. _Was it some sort of official thingie, or...?_ Quinn's book of The Knowledge remained closed in her backpack.

"This means we get to spend so much time together! And of course, you'll be meeting Edmonda and Sue Bee at lunch, where you'll be proclaimed a Top along with Meesh."

Quinn was just glad to be talking to females again for the first time in a long while. "I'd love to meet them," she said, honestly. "Trust me...some of the guys here are really geeky. I thought that all private school boys looked like Robert Pattinson."

"Oh, Jesus, no," said Patty. "It's like opening a sampler box and praying that you don't find coconut."

"Right. Or looking for regular socks in a discount bin." The two giggled. "Some geeky guy tried to have a chat with me."

"Trust me, Quinn, as a Topisienne, you'll be in great demand. Expect all of the boys to come by and visit."

"Oh, I know. Being cute and popular is such a burden. I almost felt sorry for that guy. I can't remember his name but it had a seven in it. Or maybe an eight."

"You mean Pat Hackney?" Patty asked. "Sue Bee's old beau?"

"Yeah. He wanted to take me on his rotten wooden boat."

Patty was silent. "Dear Quinn...Patsie wanted to take you on his _yacht_. A forty-foot racing yacht, anchored in Baltimore. His father competes. Why Quinn, you'd be the envy of every girl here if you went. Mind you, you'd have to put up with Pat, but you might have to crack open the oyster to get to the pearl inside."

"He has a yacht?"

"Pat Six has the yacht. But it will be Pat Seven's someday. Pat can sail it, or so Sue Bee tells the tale. Mind you, there's a crew for that. But the Hackneys could probably buy all of Boston Harbor if they wanted to. 'Rents are big in the yacht club."

_Now_, Quinn was interested. "Hmm. Tell me more about this "Pat"..."

(* * *)

Daria walked into the Fielding library. Even at lunchtime, she could tell, the grinds were hard at work. There were students who were veritably buttressed by large stacks of books, feverishly working on whatever projects they were trying. Daria hoped to find some critical commentaries on Shakespeare's sonnets, in hopes of supplementing what she was missing.

_No luck_. Those books were checked out. "Those books disappear at the beginning of the term," said the librarian. "It's always the same few students reserving those books. Like a circle. I suspect that there's a hidden circulating library somewhere under the quad, with squirrels as librarians. I can obtain these from the Baltimore Public Library, if you're willing to wait."

"I'm surprised these books weren't purchased," Daria said.

"Out of print" was the librarian's response. _And it looks like you haven't learned yet that the wealthy are notoriously cheap. Remind me to tell you my salary sometime - you look like the kind of person at home in a library._

"Go ahead and put me on the list. Is there a place where I can check my e-mail?"

The woman pointed to several unoccupied terminals. "I don't think anyone's asked that question since last term. It was a visitor. Everyone here has a computer in their room and an iPhone on their person."

Daria dropped her bag into the seat and logged in. Checking her GMail account, she found a response waiting for her. It was sent from the Cato Institute.

**Daria,**

I found your letter amusing. You're invited to visit at the Cato Institute if you have free time - which means we won't be meeting soon, if your letter was sincere.

Stephen Stuart

Daria didn't know if Stuart was being kind or being insulting. She chose the first interpretation. The problem was that the Cato Institute was in Washington, a long way away. There was no one who could drive her there during a school day. Her father was out of town, and her mother was working at the law firm. But she knew that someway, somehow, she was going to buttonhole Stephen Stuart and demand the secrets of his success.

(* * *)

Patty practically led Quinn by the hand to a table in the lunchroom where practically the entire membership of Tops was waiting. (Sue Bentley was absent, claiming nausea.)

"Quinn," said Patty. "Let me introduce you to Eddie Sterling, Tops Chair. Quinn, this is Misha Janisson, your fellow inductee."

"Hello," Misha said, smiling and offering a hand. "I'm sure we're going to be great pals." Quinn was admired at how poised and put together Misha was for an eighth grader.

"How-do-you-do?" Eddie said, offering a hand. "Quinn...Misha...it's a great honor to be called to Tops. Ever since the first class of women arrived in Fielding in 1972, the Fielding men have voted on the women they felt represented the best Fielding womanhood had to offer - in beauty, in style, in background and in spirit. Those named to the Tops List - the Topisiennes - represent the elegance of Fielding. Quinn, Misha, you are the most elegant of the elegant. Those seated here would be honored if you would accept. Will you?"

"I'd be delighted, Eddie," Misha said.

"Wow. This is...this is _great_!" Quinn cried. "Sure!"

"Katy?" Eddie was handed two long jewelry boxes. She handed one to Misha and one to Quinn. "This is your Tops bracelet. Wearing this bracelet signifies to others that each of you are Tops. Those first Tops wore these very bracelets purchased by the male class of Fielding in '72. Those bracelets have been handed down for over twenty-five years, from young woman to young woman. Please accept the poor offer of this trinket and the greater offer of our friendship and love."

Quinn opened the box. There was a small, stylish gold bracelet with twisted links and a flat plate. Enscribed on the plate were the words "_Toppermostest - 1994_".

"Nineteen ninety-four?" Quinn asked.

"Yes," said Patty. "Some bitch didn't give her bracelet back when she was booted in '93. Shameful really. A replacement."

"Quinn," purred Eddie, "you'll have _my bracelet_ when I graduate. It's time for The Call."

Eddie stood up on the bench and raised her left hand with her bracelet. "Tops, Tops!"

Every other girl raised her bracelet hand, shaking their jewelry "_Tops, Tops_!" It was a unified response, and Quinn just missed it, but managed to at least get standing and avoid the _faux pas_.

Immediately, there was a roar that rattled with windows. Every single male student in the lunchroom, from third grade up to seniors, stood to attention and roared at the top of his lungs. "TOPS ARE TOPS! TOPS ARE TOPS! TOPS ARE TOPS! FIELDING, FIELDING, RAH RAH REE!" There was a great hullaballoo that followed.

(* * *)

"So anyway, the tale is told that Stewie came into class one day and he smelled like curdled breast milk. It was two weeks before finals. A senior said, 'My God, Stuart, you _bathe_, don't you?' And Stewie looks him dead in the eyes and says - I swear to God - '_I'll bathe when finals are over_!'. Dar, I'm sure he's a _dreamboat_. What shall you have for a wedding present?"

Daria had to chuckle. "All right. If he's buried under a layer of crust, I'll bring a hammer and chisel with me."

"Well, at least get pics," Elsie said. "He missed his pictures in yearbook. I've always thought of him as 'Not Pictured Stephen Stuart'."

"TOPS ARE TOPS! TOPS ARE TOPS! TOPS ARE TOPS! FIELDING, FIELDING, RAH RAH REE!" Daria and Elsie's peaceful lunch was interrupted by screaming males and the banging of metal eating implements.

Daria held her hands over her ears. "What the hell is going on?"

Elsie sighed. "The boys have decided who the new _Twats_ are going to be."


	9. Chapter 9

Before we begin examining American jurisprudence specifically," Mr. Mackryk (MAKE-rick) said, "I'd like to continue our discussion of the role of law in culture. Yesterday's discussion was a provocative one. Would anyone like to pick up from yesterday?" He noted an eager look in Daria's eye. "Ms. Morgendorffer?"

Daria stood. She hated having to stand for any discussion or any answer of a question in class, but she liked some of the discussions. "Mr. Mackryk, yesterday you concluded that the law represented the culture. You compared the law with religion, and stated that the law was a civic religion. However, my experience with religion is that it's inflexible. Furthermore, law relies heavily on written text - the "letter of the law". If a culture is dynamic, then why is the law so inflexible?"

"Good point," said Mackryk. "But have you forgotten the amending of law through the legislature, or judicial review?"

"No," said Daria. "My experience is that these are slow processes that don't keep up with the culture. Look at drug laws, for example. Look at marriage laws. The law appears more impediment than aid."

"True, but the law, at some level, must be protected from change which is too rapid. Remember that the law doesn't merely represent the culture, but the accumulated wisdom of the culture. This is why we have _precedent_, and why one's reading of the law must be a scholarly undertaking. Besides, isn't it fun to find a loophole?"

The class was laughing. Daria knew they weren't laughing at her, but she didn't think that Mackryk had gotten the point. "You're implying that justice depends on luck. If you're lucky and find a loophole, you get off. If you're not, you get busted."

"True. But the law is a representation of accumulated wisdom - in nominal democracies, it is supposed to be bigger than any one person. A straightforward reading of the law could be represented by say, an inflexible judge who only understands "the letter of the law". Doesn't one have a right to seek other judges? If you didn't agree with a physician's diagnosis, you'd certainly seek another doctor. What makes more sense than to seek an interpretation other than the standard one, an interpretation by a legal peer whose standing in the law is equivalent to those whose interpretations are unfavorable? You're not looking for a loophole - you're looking for a greater perspective, a "smarter judge" as it were. Precedent and inflexiblity can be a double-edged sword, protecting the accused as well as the accuser."

Mackryk smiled. "Thank you, Ms. Morgendorffer." Daria sat. She had learned that those were Fielding's code words for "the discussion is over, please be seated."

An idea crystallized in Daria's mind. There was a reason that she liked this class.

(* * *)

As the class emptied out, Elsie said, "Daria, some bad, bad news. My parents have found out about our relationship and I can't hide it any longer. The secret is out. They know everything."

"You mean...?

"Yes," said Elsie. "_They have invited you to dinner_."

"Dammit." Daria smiled as she said it. "You couldn't keep your parents hidden away forever." _I wonder if Tom will be there._

"A litte rat must have told them. They shall be quite astonished that I have a friend, so be prepared for a thorough cross-examination. Besides, this gives us an opportunity for our first tutoring session. I'd like to go over this horrible outline of the American court system at lunch and tonight I can quiz you on The Knowledge. Tomorrow the seniors will be on the prowl for the new kids, and trust me, they know who you are and will be seeking you."

"Can't help you with the Intro Law stuff today. I have another appointment at the library. I guess our tutoring session will have to be postponed, because I shouldn't charge you money for tutoring me."

"Go ahead and take the money. You have to have dinner with us. Consider it the cost of inconvenience."

(* * *)

Quinn stood in the bathroom applying mascara. The only other girls in the bathroom were two fifth-graders. One of the girls was washing her hands; the other was closely watching Quinn apply the wand.

Patty Clark and Sue Bentley entered the bathroom. "Hi Quinn! God, that's a great idea." Patty looked for her compact. "A morning touch-up."

The girl washing her hands immediately left. As the other girl watched Quinn, Sue Bentley walked up to her and grabbed her by the ear as if trying to lift off her scalp. "Get out of here, you little brat!" Sue shouted as the girl squealed all the way to the door before being shoved out.

Sue Bentley kicked each of the stall doors open. The doors swung against the stall dividers, making a loud racket. "Patty, care to keep watch at the door?"

"All right, but I still have to touch up."

Sue opened her purse, forcing a cigarette out of a box with a well-practiced motion. "Quinn, do you have a match?"

"Uh. I don't smoke."

"_Really_?" asked Patty. "I have to have that kick before starting the day. Could never do without it. It's a great way to stay slim." Quinn noticed that in a few seconds, Patty already had a cigarette up to her lips and was lighting it.

"You don't smoke, Quinn?" Sue asked, tilting her head. "I can't imagine. Where have _you_ been?"

"Well...my parents don't smoke," said Quinn.

"Parents _aren't here_, are they?" Sue smiled and handed her cigarette to Quinn. "Take it," Sue said, not as much a request as an order. Quinn grabbed the cigarette by the middle.

"Patty, throw me your lighter." The lighter sailed across the room. "We have a new initiate into the Sisterhood. And, Quinn...next time I wouldn't hold it in the center. You're smoking a cigarette, not giving a hand job."

(* * *)

A Lexis-Nexus search had failed. There was nothing in the catalog, and Daria only had five more minutes before she had to leave the library. The librarian pointed to a stack of decaying newspapers. Daria limited her searches to September editions.

Fortunately, she found what she was looking for. An entire page of information, printed in 1976 and most likely, completely forgotten. She would be prepared to cite chapter and verse, quite willing to pay for the photocopy.

(* * *)

Back at home, Daria threw her blazer to the bedsheets and rapidly exchanged her blouse for an orange T-shirt.

"Daria, here you are about to visit the Sloanes and you're not even dressing," Helen said. "You have a sweet blouse in the closet."

"Sorry _Mater_. But Elsie said that this was to be an informal dinner, and this is as informal as it gets. Any more informal and I'd be nude."

"Well, you only get one chance to make a first impression. God knows that your father and I are working very hard for you to go to Fielding. This is costing us a lot of money and you need to maximize your opportunities to make friends."

"_Mater_, I have maximized the opportunities. They are maximized at n = 1."

"Very well, Daria. But if you keep calling me 'Mater' I'm going to _maximize_ the amount of chores I have you do over the weekend."

Daria bounded down the stairs carrying her backpack. Quinn was watching FashionVision.

"Careful, Quinn. Make sure you're not watching a repeat, or it would be a major faux pas. Oh. That's right. Everyone wears the same blazer and skirt at Fielding."

"Ha, ha. And of course, you bring your books when you visit a friend. It shows why you don't have any friends if the nicest thing you can bring is a book."

"Aren't you worried about 'The Knowledge'?"

"Oh, that stuff. Daria...I'm a _Top_. Tops don't get asked stuff like that. We have other more important responsibilities."

"Right. Because Fielding students are smart enough to know there'd be no point examining an empty head. I'm going outside to wait for my ride."

(* * *)

Daria had to blink twice when she saw it pull up to the driveway. It was an old Lincoln Continental. Daria guessed that the car had to be at least twenty years old. The paint had flaked away from the right front bumper, and rust had grabbed a strong foothold.

Tom rolled down the window and waved. "Your ride is here." Daria climbed into the back seat with Elsie. (She didn't dare climb into the unoccupied passenger's seat.)

"Uh...where are the seat belts?" Daria asked.

"You know," said Elsie. "I've never asked. I'm afraid to learn the answer."

"C'mon," said Tom. "You have to live dangerously. I'm only driving with a learner's permit. Hey Daria," smiled Tom. "Nice to see that you dressed for the occasion." Daria was embarassed, and failed to notice that Tom's smile was a warm one.

(* * *)

The meal was surprisingly intimate. There was a large dining table, but only one end of it was used, with everyone grouped together at one side. Tom, Elsie, and Daria were provided water (no soda) while Elsie's parents - Angier and Kay Sloane - drank wine. Daria noticed that Tom looked a lot like his mother, Kay. Elsie's black hair came from Angier, but Elsie didn't resemble either parent that much despite being Tom's fraternal twin.

Daria expected an interrogation, but it was a pleasant one. Daria mentioned that her father was a traveling representative for LifePharma, the same crazy job that he had in Highland. Her mother was an associate with Vitale et. al. and Angier mentioned that he knew Jim Vitale. "It's a good firm," Angier said, "it services the corporate sector. As long as there's a contract to be disputed your mother will always find work."

"It seems that there's a lot being disputed these days," said Daria. "Mom is rarely home."

"Well, neither was Angier when they had him working a desk at Goldberg Brothers," said Kay. "Mean old man, leaving me to raise two children."

"So Mother, you were at one time a wispy French girl?" asked Elsie.

"Daria, Elsie's talking about the _au pair_," said Tom. "Between her, the guy who does the lawn and Francesca, I can say '****' in four languages."

Daria expected a firestorm at the dinner table from such invective, imagining her father. ('DAMMIT, YOU CAN'T SAY '****' AT THIS TABLE!') but everyone just laughed. "I believe the reason that she left was because twins were too much for her. Particularly these two."

"Hmm. Funny," said Angier. "My recollection is that it had something to do with a drug arrest. Cecille lost her green card. Details were vague."

"That reminds me! I have something for you, Angier." Kay left for the kitchen, and returned with a plate full of brownies and a ltter.

("Your Mom's a great cook," whispered Daria.)

("The help made the food a few hours ago," whispered Elsie, "Mom carries it in.")

"Angier, this is from Tyler."

"They still won't let Tyler use a phone or a computer?" Tom asked.

Angier opened the letter and read it:

_Dear Bro, I'm doing very well at the facility. Group therapy is just charming, there are lots of interesting people to meet here - and I promise that I'm not having sex with any of them, more's the pity. I've been dry for a couple of weeks this time; I truly believe that I'll make it through the whole two months. Sorry for the handwriting, but the staff is horrible - they confiscated my cellphone and a bottle of Tyler. Bitches. Writing lots of letters. Very strict food choices, reminds me of Pritikin and how Aunt Mara loved Pritikin. Mara weighed eighty pounds at the end; I'm hitting the streets after all of this is over - for a donut!_

All my love to Kay, Tom, and Elsie: Tyler

"I'm glad he's doing well," said Kay.

"He tries," said Angier.

Elsie took Daria's upper arm, drawing her closer. "It's a pity, because Uncle Tyler's so entertaining when he's wasted. What is this, Dad? The eighth time in rehab? He didn't make it through the previous seven.

"Well, maybe it will stick, God help him."

"Hate to leave this scintillating conversation," said Elsie. "But I suppose Daria and I must depart. You know, gossip, candy, all that stuff that girls do."

"Daria, it was a pleasure meeting you," Kay said.

"Likewise," said Daria. "I enjoyed the meal."

"It's a damned lie," said Tom with a grin. "Daria's pleasure was fleeting."

Daria was glad that Tom was teasing her. "On the contrary," said Daria. "Not only was the meal a good one, I can statistically prove it was."

"How?" said Tom.

"_No one left screaming_," said Daria, and she got what she wanted from Tom - another laugh.

"Well, I'll have to let Angela know you remembered her," said Kay, "I certainly hope you'll come back again."

(* * *)

"_Two jugs of sour mash whiskey, a handgun, and a 'stack of wheats'_," Daria answered.

"Good," said Elsie. "That should fill your gaps in The Knowledge."

"Well, your parents helped. I wonder what Fielding would be have been like if Habbakuk Fielding had brought another handgun instead of those wafers when he met the Cherokee."

"If he had, we would be a university. It wouldn't have mattered. He was a Crestview man, so he probably didn't bring bullets." Elsie looked at the clock. "Anyway, Mom and Dad just wanted to know that this 'friend' of mine wasn't fictional."

"Why wouldn't they believe you?"

"Well...to be honest, I've never quite had a friend. Yes. Shameful. I believe the last person I invited home was in fourth grade. Teresa Kettle. I suppose two weeks of my company was enough. You might know her. Sits behind us in Intro to Law, and very, very queer."

"Actually, I've noticed that she's..uh..._very friendly_ with that blonde girl that sits beside her." Daria asked.

"Oh yes. But think about it, Daria. All of these young people in boarding school that spend the overwhelming majority of their time with members of the same sex. It twists them. Lots of 'experimentation'. No public displays of affection of course, but if Teresa invites you for a night over for milk and cookies, then expect to eat more than just cookies."

Elsie and Daria left the room. "We have an hour before Tom must send you away. So let's have fun. What about some backgammon?"

"Backgammon? Hmm. You know, 'Sick Sad World' is coming up. New episode."

"Hm?" asked Elsie.

"Oh. You might not watch it. 'Sick Sad World' is a program about various forms of human idiocy. Required viewing."

"Oh. Well, I've never seen it. It sounds fun."

"It will be good tonight. There's a tape of a rant against Chinese people by Michael Richards when the cameras caught him at a midget wrestling match."

"Who's Michael Richards?"

"Wow," said Daria. "He played Kramer on 'Seinfeld'."

"What's 'Seinfeld'?"

"Huh? You're putting me on."

"Well, I don't watch very much television. I must have missed that."

"It was on for nine years," said Daria. "It was the most successful comedy since 'I Love Lucy'."

"_What's 'I Love Lucy'?_


	10. Chapter 10

Daria had scoped out Fielding like it was hostile territory. A life of crappy schools and bullies ready to prey on the weak had taught her a few things - scope out wherever the scum are likely to hang out, and don't go there, because fools gain strength in numbers. Daria figured that as long as she was in an open area free of "attractive nuisances" she could remain relatively unmolested.

Not that Daria worried about being beaten up at Fielding - although Elsie had told Daria a few stories that would have given anyone pause. Rather, today was the day of The Knowledge, when any upperclassman could target any new student and ask them any question from the manual "Your Place in Fielding", a small book with illegible type containing a veritable wealth of useless historical Fielding trivia. The manual was given to all new students, who learned to prize it. In addition, there were certain obscure subjects not written in the book that were also part of "The Knowledge", so memorizing the book was no guarantee of success.

If the target couldn't answer the question, then the upperclassman could impose a penalty. The target could be asked to verify the answer if the upperclassman was in a good mood - and could be asked to do something humiliating if the upperclassman wasn't. _And the upperclassmen were rarely in good moods._

Only juniors and seniors could ask Daria questions, and she was certain that they'd try. Daria didn't expect to avoid humiliation, but she decided that The Knowledge would not be her only armament that day.

(* * *)

Mr. Goodlett was an imposing figure at Fielding, but would never have been an imposing figure anywhere else. Definitely not in the black community where he grew up, where he was a figure of derision. He was a large pyramid-shaped man and looked as if a smaller triangle had been set upon a larger one. Bereft of facial hair, he had a squeaky voice that betrayed some sort of hormonal imbalance. His fingers were small sausage links.

The large man tilted like a top. "Now, Ms. Gauvin, why would Odysseus wish to kill the suitors of his wife, hm? Can you tell me?"

Melissa Gauvin stood up. "The arrival of the suitors are an affront to Odysseus's honor. They want to marry his wife, they have horribly abused his hospitality, and they attempted to kill his son. It is a matter of honor. Odysseus _must_ kill them."

"True, too true. But you forget that Tiresias had commanded the death of the suitors. Odysseus is bound to kill the suitors, for Tiresias speaks on behalf of the gods. In _Oedipus the King_, Tiresias plays an important part and that tragedy is worth reading."

"So why other advice does Tiresias give Odysseus? Let's ask our new student. Ms. Morgendorffer, why does Odysseus select a black sheep to be sacrificed to Tiresias?"

Feeling the pressure, Quinn was forced to stand. She answered, "I'm afraid I don't know, Mr. Goodlett." She smiled.

"Hmm...yes...let's see, now I've received five 'I don't know's' over the course of your arrival here at Fielding. But I am not without mercy. Let's ask...something _simpler_. Which of the Greek gods has a grudge against Odysseus? After all, knowing the name of that god explains why it took Odysseus so long to get home."

Quinn was turning red. She looked for support among her fellow students (Patty Clark!) but they were all desperate to avoid any eye contact. "I don't know, Mr. Goodlett. I'm sorry."

"Hmph. All right. Then answer me this one. _Where the hell is Odysseus going?_ Athens? Sparta? The name of the city, Ms. Morgendorffer? Maybe you can name the _country_. Or, perhaps, if Odysseus is a man or a woman. Or a chimpanzee."

_Silence._ Before Quinn could stumble out an apology, Goodlett said, "I suppose there's no point in asking you what _in medias res_?" means.

Once again, a brief pause, before Goodlett answered his own question. "No. There is no point in asking, none at all. If you can come to this room at 2 pm, please do so. If not, I shall speak to you after classes are concluded. Be seated, Ms. Morgendorffer."

Quinn still didn't know why Odysseus wanted to sacrifice a black sheep to Tiresias, or if he was a god, or if so, what kind of god. What she knew was that if she had a black sheep and a long enough knife then a sacrifice to some god - _any god_ - would soon be in order.

(* * *)

Daria had made it to lunchtime unmolested. There were no junior or seniors in her beginning classes. She planned on making a beeline straight for the lunchroom.

"_Morgendorffer! Daria Morgendorffer!_

Daria turned, rapidly, as if expecting a disaster. Sure enough, it was an older boy, accompanied by two of his friends. "Are you ready for The Knowledge, Ms. Morgendorffer?"

"Lay it on me, soul man," said Daria, somewhat facetiously.

"How many seats are there in the Pasquier Auditorium?"

"There are eight hundred and seven general admission seats."

Another boy asked his question. "Name the last victory by the Blue Jays against Grove Hills."

"The last time the Fielding Blue Jays defeated the Grove Hills Bears was on January 24, 20- in girls' basketball. 43-36."

"_Bitch sports don't count_," said the third boy. "Let's talk real sports. Football."

"The last time Fielding beat Grove Hills in football was eleven years ago, by a score of 41-21. It took place at Aleph Field at the Grove Hills campus." _Your Kung Fu is weak, boy._ Daria smiled. _What idiot __**wouldn't**__ ask a question about football?_

The three departed, but Daria interrupted their journey. "As a part of The Knowledge, I get to ask each of you one question regarding a Fielding campus fact. My understanding of The Knowledge is that you're required to give that answer, without any penalty against you if you don't know it"

The three weren't aware of this fact, but acquiesced. "All right, Morgendorffer. You get your question. What do you want to know?"

"The same question, for all three of you. The Fielding Motto has five nouns. Which of those nouns is the most important?"

"That's easy," said the leader. "_Tradition_. That was a wasted question."

"Not quite," said Daria. "Thank you." With that, she went on her way.

(* * *)

Quinn arrived at 2 pm in Goodlett's classroom. Patty Clark said that she didn't know what Goodlett would want. "I've done the best to stay away from the beastly man, myself. I'd help, Quinn, but I board so I'd be unable to assist after class." Quinn knew that non-boarders had to be off campus by 6 pm except for visitation - which could only take place once a month.

The other Tops told horror stories. "The first year that Goodlett was here," Patty Clark said, "he had sixteen students in English. He gave two Cs and he flunked the rest. Some parent tried to sue him, but they lost. Fielding backed him up. The Heads let Goodlett do what he wants. I just try to work a fact that I know into any answer I give. Trust me, everyone's afraid of him."

"I asked him for help after class on _Julius Caesar_," said Sue Bentley. "He looked at me with those beady little eyes and said," Sue recounted, mimicing Goodlett's high-pitched voice, "'_I am not a draft horse, Ms. Bentley. I shall point you to the path of knowledge, but I will not carry a lazy student down the road on my back._' Bastard. Whatever he wants, Quinn - it can't be good."

"I suggest apologizing," said Misha Jannison. "A _lot_, for whatever it is."

Quinn entered the empty classroom. Goodlett was not there waiting for her. She waited a good fifteen minutes before she wondered if he was coming at all. She decided to answer some of her text messages while waiting on him.

Just as she was typing a response, Goodlett entered the room. "Very ill manners of you, Ms. Morgendorffer. I take time out of my busy schedule, and I find you here texting. Pray that I don't see that Blackberry come out of that purse in any of my classes, do you hear me?"

"Yes sir." Quinn's mouth had suddenly become parched. She put the Blackberry away.

"I decided to bring evidence to this inquiry. There's no point in asking you anything, because the answers to my questions in class tell me I shall never get an answer." Goodlett handed over three papers to Quinn, papers that looked photocopied. Upon closer examination, they were the three papers Quinn had turned in for homework.

"Do you know what this is, Ms. Morgendorffer? That's a rhetorical question and there's no need to answer it. This is _garbage_. These papers are _utter drivel_. I cannot bear to recount the crimes listed on these papers. Now, I'm going to ask you a simple question, Ms. Morgendorffer. There is no wrong answer to it, but I don't want to hear a word out of you. You shall merely nod your head appropriately. Answer honestly: _have you read any of the assigned reading_?"

Quinn slowly shook her head back and forth.

"My initial conclusions have been confirmed. Ms. Morgendorffer, I shall no longer be calling upon you in class discussion. You simply waste the time of your fellow students...and you waste _my_ time. That's unforgivable."

_Good_, thought Quinn, _it's not as if anyone wants to answer your stupid questions about Homer and the Odyssey._

"Ms. Morgendorffer, I am _short-listing you_."

Goodlett expected a response...but received none. "Hm? Do you know what that means, Ms. Morgendorffer?"

Quinn was too scared to open her mouth, so she shook her head again. Goodlett did the talking. "Oh. You are new. I will tell you. New students are evaluated by the faculty during their first semester. If a faculty member concludes that a new student might not be up to the standard of Fielding, that student's name may be sent to the Headmaster as a prospective case of academic deficiency. Which means that if you receive a grade in any class below a 'C' during your first fall semester - then your presence will no longer be required at Fielding in the spring semester."

"Wait a minute," Quinn cried out, "you mean..._you're flunking me_?"

"No," said Goodlett. "Undoubtedly you shall do that all by yourself when the fall class grades are released. Dismissed." Goodlett turned to leave.

"Wait!" cried Quinn. "I'm sorry! _I'm sorry_!"

"Too late," was Goodlett's only response as he left the room and left a shocked Quinn alone in an empty classroom at Fielding.

(* * *)

Daria had made it through three inquiries that day. Each time she answered the questions correctly, each time she asked the same question in response about the Fielding motto, and each time she got the correct answer back.

"Daria!"

Daria turned in the hallway, ready to face the next inquistitor. Instead, she faced Tom Sloane.

"Oh..uh..._hi Tom._" Pause. "How are you?" It was the only thing she could think to ask him.

"I'm cool. So, how are you making it through The Knowledge?"

The two were interrupted by three third grade boys pulling a senior through the hallway in a red wagon. "Stroke! Stroke! Stroke!" he cried, stroking with an imaginary paddle.

Daria turned back to Tom. "Well, I'm not been asked to pull a wagon yet...but the day isn't over?"

"I heard that you keep asking students about the Fielding motto and 'Tradition'."

"Really?" Daria asked. "I plead guilty."

"Some of the juniors were talking about it in lunch. They think you've got some devious aim in mind."

"Possibly."

"Care to share it?"

"Oh Tom," said Daria. "_A new Fielding student can trust no one_."

"Well, whatever it is, I hope it's good." Tom wished he could be there, but he had also heard that some of the seniors were preparing a particularly heinous question with a punishment to match. _Whatever the boys try_, thought Tom, _the girls will match_.

(* * *)

Quinn sat under a tree on the campus quad, alone. She didn't dare tell any of her new friends, the Tops, that she had been 'short-listed'. If she didn't pass Goodlett's class - if she didn't pass _all of her classes_ that semester - then that was it at Fielding. Her dreams of being the most popular girl on campus would be dead before they even started. And passing Goodlett's class would be impossible.

She pulled out _The Odyssey_ from her bookbag. The spine of the book cracked as it was forced open. _So that's what they mean by 'cracking a book' . No one else opens their books in Goodlett's class. How did I become the stupid one?_

Figuring that she had better start reading, Quinn sailed into Book I:

**TELL ME, O MUSE, of that ingenious hero who traveled far and wide after he had sacked the famous town of Troy. Many cities did he visit, and many were the nations with whose manners and customs he was acquainted; moreover he suffered much by sea while trying to save his own life and bring his men safely home; but do what he might he could not save his men, for they perished through their own sheer folly in eating the cattle of the Sun-god Apollo; so the god prevented them from ever reaching home. Tell me, too, about all these things, oh daughter of Zeus, from whatsoever source you may know them.**

_Troy? Cattle? Zeus? Which daughter of Zeus? Oh, this is hopeless!_ When Quinn reached the words 'hecatomb of sheep and oxen' Quinn closed the book in despair. It was all Greek to her.

She wondered if there was some way to cheat. No, not in a room with just twelve people in it. And there the the take-home assignments to do.

_A tutor_. That's what she needed. All she had to do was to get her Mom to pay for a tutor. Preferably one who spoke Greek and had dark, curly hair. _Who would know more about Zeus and Odysseus than someone who spoke the language? Besides, since they all worshiped Zeus it would be just like reading the Bible to them!_ She resolved to have her Mom pay for a tutor - and she'd never have to open that horrible book again once she learned all the tutor tricks.

(* * *)

It was four o'clock. Daria left the natatorium, where she had been practicing her diving. Or rather, she had been practicing her _practicing_ for her diving.

Where the rest of the members of the Fielding Swim Club had been performing laps, Daria had been standing on the platform, with her arms over her head and her fingers locked together in a rather uncomfortable posture. The goal was to for her palms to rest completely flat over her her arms fully extended. The pose was to allow one to steer and maintain a perfectly vertical posture in mid-dive, although Daria suspected that the exercise did nothing.

The chilly natatorium only added to the discomfort. The shouts through a bullhorn of "Concentrate, Daria! _Extend! Tippytoes!_" did little to help. The entire hour consisted of stretching, shouts through a bullhorn, and Daria's frozen nipples. Frankly, Daria was glad to be outside.

At four thirty her mother - or most likely, Marianne, her mother's secretary - would pick up Daria and Quinn from school. Sometimes, Marianne was late, other time's Daria's mother Helen was late. Daria's goal was to get from the natatorium to the curb, taking a straight line, and avoiding the entire prospect of The Knowledge altogether. _There was yet a hope of rescue_.

No such luck. Instead of the younger students waiting for their rides, or even worse - Quinn - there was a bevy of senior students. It seemed that there were ten of them.

"Well, well, Ms. Morgendorffer," said one of them. "How-do-you-do? Jo Lyon here. The day has gone by, but _it is not over yet_. Is your Knowledge ready?"

"It is."

"What did Mark Garrett die of in 1912?"

"He died from _the bite of a squirrel_. Infection set in."

Another boy stepped forward. "What athletic skill was required of every graduate of Fielding in the first class?"

"_Skill with the longbow._"

"Name the quarterback on _the very first Fielding football team_," said one boy with a particularly wide grin on his face.

Daria tried not to swear. Not only was that question not in "Your Place in Fielding", but it wasn't one of the traditional questions asked that was not in the book. This was the Silver Bullet that would trip Daria up.

Daria sighed. "Can I answer the question about the Fielding motto, instead?"

One of the girls pulled out a container of honey from her blazer pocket. "Not that one," said the boy. "The answer, by the way, is 'Tradition' as you've been so eager to let us know."

"Then by tradition, I ask the right to have the question reasked. You do believe in tradition, don't you?"

"Yes," said Ms. Lyon. "And it's a tradition that wrong answers are punished. So I hope you believe in _that_ tradition, too." The other girls were pulling various bottles of condiments out of their jackets.

"Then please reask the question."

"Name the quarterback on the - "

"I should have made myself clearer," said Daria. "My apologies. But if my understanding of Fielding tradition is correct - and the 1976 edtion of the _Fielding Boarder_ writes of the requirement that in 1921, any student could ask that such questions be repeated - _in Latin_."

"Huh?"

"All students at Fielding in 1921 were expected to be fluent in Latin. It was the language of the classroom. All third-grade students were expected to be proficient in conversational Latin. And this included The Knowledge, where all questions in The Knowledge were supposed to be asked in Latin. It was tradition that if a question was not asked of a professor - or anyone on campus - in Latin, then that question could be ignored. So I'm ignoring your question until you ask it properly."

"That's utter bullshit," said the boy. "Answer the question or not, or face the consequences."

"It's also tradition that disputes regarding The Knowledge can be appealed to the Headmaster, who will take time out of his day to handle any disputes. Which reminds me of another question from The Knowledge - _what was Headmaster Henry Michaelas's academic major_?" Daria pulled out some papers, with the appropriately laminated articles.

Everyone knew the answer. _Ancient languages._ Michaelas had been pushing the alumni for an ancient languages requirement for years, instead of merely an elective. They all knew how he'd judge such a question.

"Who cares?" said Lyon. "Blast her!"

As the condiments reached firing position, Daria smiled. "And any punishment administered against the rules of The Knowledge falls double against those who break the rules. My mother and I will go to the headmaster's office tomorrow. And I'll have a wide array of condiments ready after I win my appeal." _I played your stupid game. Now play mine._

There was silence. Then one girl asked, "Did anyone here take Latin?"

More silence. "However," said Daria, "I would never sacrifice the traditions of Fielding to my own whims. Maybe there's someone else you could ask."

(* * *)

Helen finally arrived at 5:30. By that time, Daria was the only person left at the curb.

"Daria?" asked Helen. "Where's Quinn?"

"She's been detained. But she's only a few yards away. You can park here." With that, Daria walked away expecting her mother to follow.

There was a crowd of students gathered around a building, pointing and laughing. Among them were Jo Lyon and some of the other seniors. Helen heard a sound from the top of the roof.

"COCK-A-DOODLE-DOO!"

Helen looked up to see her daughter, Quinn, flapping her arms as if they were wings, and screaming, "COCK-A-DOODLE DOO!" at the top of her lungs, doing her best imitation of a rooster. One student was capturing the moment on his cellphone camera.

"What...on..._earth_?" asked Helen.

"Oh _Mater_," said Daria. "If you were a Fielding student...you'd appreciate the value of tradition. Why you'd never convince Quinn otherwise..."


	11. Chapter 11

"But Mo-OOMMM!

"No 'buts' about it Quinn," Helen sighed. "_Jesus_ knows that if you had shown any sort of interest in your schoolwork before, we would have given you anything you wanted. And now, when you finally realize that you're in some sort of trouble, and when you really _need_ a tutor - we can't afford one. Your father and I are working overtime to pay for your education, and the budget can't bear any extra expense."

"It doesn't have to be an expensive tutor! What about a _cheap_ one? He doesn't even have to be that smart!"

"_No_. If you're expelled from Fielding, Quinn, then we'll just enroll you at Lawndale High School."

"_Lawndale_? Where the _townies_ go? God, Mom, why don't you just enroll me at Carter County High School?"

"Quinn, we have to make choices. It's a fact of life. Your father and I made the choice to send you to Fielding, and to work overtime to pay the bills. You made the choice to slack off academically. And now, you get to make the choice of either working very hard to make up the gaps in your knowledge, or leaving Fielding."

"But don't I get more choices than _that_?"

"_No_. That's it, Quinn. If the other girls like you, Quinn, then they'll help you."

Quinn rolled her eyes. "You don't understand _anything_." And with that, Quinn left Helen's study, knowing that her parents would be of no help.

(* * *)

**To: Daria Morgendorffer (****)  
Fm: Elsie Sloane (****)  
Subject: Drollery**

Q: How many Fielding students does it take to change a light bulb?  
A: One. He holds it up and the world rotates around him.

q: How many Grove Hills students does it take to change a light bulb?  
A: Two. One to screw in the bulb, the other to kill himself because Fielding did it better.

Q: How many St. Anthony's students does it take to change a light bulb?  
A: Eight. One female prof to change it, eight boys to look up her skirt and afterwards, go to confessional.

Q: How many St. Agatha's students does it take to change a light bulb?  
A: None. St. Hag's girls are best kept in the dark.

Q: How many Crosswoods students does it take to change a light bulb?  
A: One. The old light bulb is made into a bong.

Q: How many Georgian Academy students does it take to change a light bulb?  
A: Fifteen. Two grinds who are compelled to change the bulb, the rest to hold an all-night beer bash.

Remember - Grove Hills mixer next month. Some things have to be seen to be believed. C U there?

Els

Daria laughed. She really didn't want to go to that Grove Hills mixer - frankly, she didn't want to spend more time at Fielding than necessary - but Elsie had been working her over. She would rather give up and go to the mixer than be a bitch about it to Elsie. She knew she needed as many friends at Fielding as she could get.

There was a knock on Daria's door. "I must warn you that beyond the portcullis, three stout men lie in wait. Bring your sword, or perish," said Daria.

"Daria?" It was Quinn's tentative voice. "Hey, Daria, can I come in?"

"No."

"Well...I'm coming in anyway!" Quinn opened the door. Daria didn't bother looking away from the computer, but the Cannibal Fragfest screen-saver popped up so that Quinn couldn't read her mail.

"Go away, ginger girl."

"Dah-RIA...can't two sisters just...you know...chat?"

"The last time I heard the story, I was an escaped Russian mail-order bride that adopted the Morgendorffer name and that was living in the basement. I must have done something really special to be upgraded to 'sister'. Either that, or you want something?"

"Daria...I need to know some tricks. Some _study tricks_."

"Silly rabbit. You think I have a magic wand shoved up my butt?"

_No, but it would explain a lot._ "Daria, have you read _The Odyssey_?"

"Yes. It's all about the joys of owning an inexpensive and reliable automobile. You'd love it."

"Ha. Ha. Even I know it's about a bunch of Greek guys. Did...did you have any notes or stuff lying around?"

"Okay. I'm smelling desperation here."

"Daria," Quinn said, giving up. "I...I-need-some-help-OKAY? I'll pay you!"

"For amusement's sake, let's say that one of our teachers at Highland had assigned _The Odyssey_. For further amusement, let's suppose that I had a stack of notes on _The Odyssey_. For the after dinner dessert, assume I had ten minutes worth of spare time right now. What makes you suppose that I'd try to help you?"

"Because we're both at _Fielding_, Daria, and you know what they say about loyalty."

"No. Illuminate me. What do they say about it?"

Quinn didn't have an answer. "C'mon? Please? I'll pay you."

Daria sighed. "Okay. One hundred twenty-five dollars an hour."

"_What_? I don't have that much money! _No one_ has that kind of money!"

"You hit up Mom, I suppose?"

"Uh-huh."

"Well, that's how much they charge for a tutor at Fielding."

"I don't have that kind of money."

"Then, Quinn..._you're screwed_. Good luck selling pencils on the corner."

"No wait! I can do something else. Like work?"

"What can you do that's worth one hundred and twenty five dollars an hour that doesn't bring shame and the Carter County Vice Squad to the Morgendorffer home?"

"I can help you with your appearance! That has to be worth something!"

(* * *)

If anyone had been standing outside of Daria's door, they would have noticed a young-red headed woman being shoved out the door and onto the hallway floor, with the door closing rapidly behind her.

(* * *)

Quinn hoped to find either Patty or Sue in their appointed spot - the first floor bathroom in Hayley Hall. Quinn was now getting to the point where she could inhale the smoke without becoming immediately nauseous, and she even had her own cigarette lighter. But first, she had to pee. She really wished that Sue Bentley hadn't kicked the locks in.

As she did her business in the stall, she saw two sets of footsteps. She couldn't see the faces, obviously, but the two were talking.

"Congrats, Meesh. You're so lucky to be a Top," said the first pair of shoes.

"Thanks, Kath. All of the other girls have become super-jealous-bitches." The second pair of penny loafers continued. "You're the only real friend I have here at Fielding. The Tops are so snotty, anyway. I _so_ wish you could be a Top."

"Well, isn't there that other nice girl that everyone's talking about? Quinn Morgendorffer? Isn't she new in Tops?"

"She's charming, I'm sure, but I heard that _she won't be here long_. They've _short-listed_ her."

Quinn gasped, almost giving herself away. _How could they know? I didn't tell anybody!_

"How sad!"

"Yes. No point in getting to know her. Besides, I hear that she's _common_. Oh well, 'here today, gone tomorrow'. Who knows? After they boot Quinn there will be a new Tops list? And maybe the boys will finally shut up about her." The four shoes walked away and the sound of a large door could be heard closing.

Quietly, Quinn opened the bathroom door. _Great. Now everyone knows. I'm going to be an outcast!_

(* * *)

During Mr. Goodlett's class, Goodlett was true to his word. He asked ten out of twelve students questions on _The Odyssey_. Even Patty got hit with a question. Quinn was asked nothing. Quinn tried to take notes, but they turned out to be gobbledy-gook, with Quinn discerning no particular aim of Goodlett's discussion.

Reading the book wasn't helping. It was just so god-damned boring. Quinn didn't understand half of what she was reading, and simply gave up. She felt like she was becoming a pariah. _Maybe Lawndale is better for me. But I don't want to leave Fielding!_ she thought.

She shared a few words with Patty Clark. Clark invited Quinn over to stay the night at some point in the month. Each Fielding student could invite someone off campus to stay over once a month, and each off-campus student could stay over one night with a Fielding resident..._once a month_. Quinn was delighted, but she was looking very carefully for signs that Patty Clark knew about Quinn's academic problems. If Patty Clark _did_ know then she was a practiced liar.

The thought of everyone talking behind Quinn's back was bringing Quinn to despair. It was something that Quinn couldn't confront directly, because by the Laws of High School, she knew that a confrontation would kick the malicious gossip into overdrive. In order to give the impression that nothing bad was happening, Quinn would have to pretend that she didn't have a care in the world, when in fact, she had all the cares in the world.

She walked as if one of the dead, lost to the concerns of the earth.

"Quinn! Oh, Quinn!"

Someone was running behind her. She recognized the heavy steps.

"Oh," Quinn said absent-mindedly. It was Patrick Hackney #7. "Hello, Pat."

"Quinn, very good to see you again, as always. How's Ol' Goodlett?"

_Does he know?_ "Oh! Well, you know Ol' Goodlett. He's very charming."

"_Realllly?_ Well, 'takes all kinds to make a nation'. I could swear that the man was an ass hole. (He said it as two words.) Quinn, just coming back to check up with you on the old yak-hhhhht. Y'know, I think that you'd be very impressed with our poor little boat."

_Wait a minute. Didn't Patty say that I'd be the envy of every girl at Fielding if I went on that Pat Hackney's yacht? And...if I did that...then they wouldn't be talking about my short-listing. No, they'd be talking about my cool yacht trip instead. Hah! I'm so...brilliant! Shows you, Daria, how smart I am!_

Quinn smiled. "Well...I think it would be very, very...amusing. Pat, do you _really_ think I could ride on your boat?" she asked, laying it on thick.

Any slot-jockey in Las Vegas would have heard the loud bells of the BIG PAYOFF if they had looked into Patrick Hackney's eyes. "Why..._absolutely_. Absolutely, dear Quinn, absolutely! Dear Quinn, you've made me the happiest fellow on earth! If I have to get a rope and carry the boat on my back, I _swear_ that you will be mi - that we shall soon be sharing the challenges of the sea together."

"Okay," said Quinn. Now that the deal was sealed, she could return to ignoring Pat. "Just send me a text message with the information."

"I will need your addy, oh Quinn. Now I believe that it's Queue-Morgendorffer, am I not right? I've been rather trepidatious in sending you e-mail."

"Fine!" Quinn was getting aggravated. "You can send me e-mail. But I don't want a lot of it."

"I shall be sparing with the words. Definitely. See you." And with that, Hackney seemed to float away.

_God, that's a lot to put up with. But I just put out that fire. Now I just have to figure out this stupid class._

(* * *)

Quinn had to seek a place where no Top could possibly find her. If they knew that she was cracking the books, it would confirm what they had already concluded about her academic status, and worse - it would indicate to the Tops that _she was worried_.

The first choice would obviously be a classroom. Occasionally, one could find an empty classroom that was occupied by a few students as an impromptu study hall between classes. The problem was finding one that wasn't besieged. Quinn decided to choose one at the top floor. _If I was looking for somewhere to study, I'd find someplace that was near a ground floor...because I'm lazy. And since brains aren't lazy, they'd choose the top floor._

Quinn soon found the abandoned room she sought. For twenty minutes she sought to keep the armada of characters from _The Odyssey_ in a straight line. There were so many of them. Odysseus. Penelope. Tiresias. Antinious. Telemachus. After twenty minutes, she started doodling, very lonely and bored.

The door suddenly opened and a young female student entered. "Oh. Hello Quinn!"

"Hey," said Quinn. "Let's see...you're..._Jill_, am I right?"

"Wow. You got it in one. Uh...is this room taken?"

"No. No, I guess not."

"Cool." The twelve-year old put her books down. "I like to study up here. No one comes up here, and I have a class at three. What are you studying?"

Quinn didn't believe that she was asking this. "Look...Jill...did you ever read _The Odyssey_?"

"No," she said. "I think I read something about the Trojan War once."

Quinn sighed. "Great. Just fucking great."

"What's wrong?" asked Jill.

"NO ONE WILL FUCKING HELP ME, THAT'S WHAT'S WRONG!" Quinn shouted, as Jill almost had a heart attack.

"I'm sorry," said Jill. "Maybe I'd better go," she said, fearing that she had upset Quinn.

"No! Stop! I mean..._don't go_." Quinn was becoming watery-eyed. "You're one of the few people that's been really nice." The rooster humiliation was still burning in her mind.

Jill seized her opportunity. She grabbed her books, put them down next to Quinn's, and sat in the adjoining chair. "Tell me what's wrong."

Quinn explained it all to Jill. She needed someone to talk to who would understand. By this point, she was beyond caring. She told about her troubles in Goodlett's class, the meeting with Goodlett, getting no help from either Helen or Daria, and the gossip. Wiping her eyes, she was glad to have someone who would actually listen.

Jill listened. "Wow. I'm sorry, Quinn."

"Yeah," said Quinn. "You didn't need my major drama."

"No! I don't mind!" said Jill too quickly. "Hmm. If anyone finds out, I guess you won't be a Top, huh?"

"Well, I'll be the dumbest Top at Fielding. If I survive the semester. Maybe the boys will like someone dumb. I just don't want to be a laughing stock among the girls."

"Okay. Well...I don't know...there is _one person_ who could help you," Jill said. "She's the smartest girl I know at Fielding. I'm sure she could help you pass. Mind you...you'd have to be pretty frigging desperate to get her to help you. And I don't know what she'll do when you ask her."

"Well, I'm absolutely desperate."

Jill was giddy. "Quinn, would you stay over tonight? I mean...I know you only get one visit a month...and you'd be staying with a seventh-grader...but you have to be on campus tonight when we ask. That's the only way we're going to get her alone."

"I'll make it happen." Patty Clark would have to be turned down, unless she could sneak away from Jill.

"Okay. I'll sneak you in. Whiteley Hall. Show up at eight o'clock. I'll let you in. Room 237."


End file.
